Plot Bunnies in the Hutch
by Luthengrad
Summary: Just your standard collection of plot bunnies. These kind of things should really get their own genre. It'd be useful. Marked as HPxovers, because most are at least partly in the Potter related. For more details, look at my author profile. All are up for adoption, please PM me. Latest: Harry, Sirius and Teddy are given a second chance in the Transformer-verse ('07 movie)
1. Thunder and Lightning (HP AUtravel)

**Welcome to the Hutch!  
**

This is just your standard collection of plot bunnies. Rather than take up half the first chapter with an author's note, I direct you my profile for more. All will be up for adoption, please PM me so I know.

* * *

A Marauder Era time-travel fic, except it's James Sirius who's been shunted back in time. Though Harry will be taking up the post of DADA teacher. If only in horrified fascination of what mischief his eldest would get into with his namesakes. At this point all I've really got is a prophecy.

**Thunder and Lightning**

James Andrew Potter was bored. That height of boredom that could only be reached on the last day of classes before exams. And horror of horrors this was neither the time nor the place for his preferred relief - pranks. No one had told them that Professor Hancock _really_ had the Sight, which made pranking him almost impossible. And soured any success with the thought that maybe he'd just let them win.

A breeze gently tugged at loose parchment and notes scattered around the room. It and the sun beckoned the poor sixth years, teasing them that it in half an hour class would be over and it'd be the weekend. Not that most would get to enjoy it, since exams began the next week.

Even James couldn't enjoy it since Moony was still angry with Sirius over baiting Snape. It had to be the warmest cool war (that's what the lovely Lily called it right?) ever. Divination was one of the few classes that the Marauders still had together, and normally it was prime discussion time. But _no_, Padfoot and Moony weren't talking, so he and Peter had more or less given up.

Not that the divination class was proceeding very studiously. Professor Hancock had opted for a question and answer session, to both revise the year's work and relax a little. There had been a few serious questions at the beginning but they'd quickly devolved to less consequential things as the class recognised a thinly veiled free class.

James was so bored he was actually asked, "Can you give us a prophecy, right now?"

"Prophecy cannot be forced, and quite frankly I don't like prophecies anyway." The professor paused, making an odd face, the continued, "Though I can pretend, just for you James." He picked his wand up from the table then muttered while poking himself in the throat. Hancock opened his eyes and they were glazed and unfocused. He spoke, not with his normal soft Australian accent but a harsh, somewhat Scottish voice.

"_One to solve the riddle approaches,  
Thunder crashes into that it echoes,  
Lightning follows to a home now haunted.  
Torn between love and fear,  
A choice between father and son,  
The marked may erase the marker,  
To save a child from his fate.  
Five anchors hold the dark,  
Only two sit where they were found.  
One to solve the riddle approaches,  
Lest the child cease to be._"

"Cooooool," James breathed, "A real live prophecy."

"And it was all for _you_. Jamsie-boy!" Sirius replied lecherously. Then sobered, "Do you think it was real?" Sirius asked, thinking back to the few times Hancock had charmed his voice and told him to fear veils. Part of the reason he was afraid of commitment. Not that he'd ever admit that.

"Didn't you feel it? The echoes, the tingly feeling, like ice down your back?"

Apparently sick of being ignored, Hancock coughed for the class' attention, his normal accent returning. "Ugh, always hurts my throat doing that. Now class, that was a true prophecy, though not one that has come to pass. I'd like to add interpreting it to your holiday homework. An inch per line and a three inch conclusion of what you think it was foretelling. And since it was horribly, horribly vague feel free to be imaginative. Now I won't keep you any longer."

The class eagerly exited the room, but James couldn't help feeling that they were missing something. He glanced back at the professor who was concentrating on a piece of parchment. Oh well, he had greasier gits to fry.

* * *

James Sirius Potter was bored. That height of boredom that could only be achieved after being left at Aunt Hermione's house for hours on end. Subject to her monologues on the values of proper study habits. He'd get his dad for this. Yes he would. It was a beautiful day and he was writing a potions essay. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with the world.

Sighing, he stood, neatly laying his quill on the table.

"And where do you think you're going?"

"Bathroom," James replied and before his Aunt could question him further Albus was distracting her with his own. Sometimes he wasn't half bad.

James strolled past the bathroom and out into the backyard. There still wasn't anything to do. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione lived in Ottery St Catchpole, like so much of his extended family, so they didn't even have a Quidditch pitch! The only half interesting thing was the Garage of Mysteries, where Aunt Hermione kept her "projects". No entry. On pain of death, pain and essay.

However, today the door was open. And since Aunt Hermione was inside, Uncle Ron was off with Dad doing who knows what, that could only mean one thing. Luna was here.

James might not have been able to reach the same wavelength as Lily did with Luna but he still found their conversations enlightening. Particularly as inspiration for his mischief making. So he eagerly slipped inside. He was disappointed to find no sign of Luna.

It was dim, except for a bright ray of dusty light shining on the least cluttered table. James wandered over, careful not to knock or touch anything. Sitting on the table was a strange wire contraption. Suspended in the the centre was a crystal ball, with an odd smoke inside. Chained around it was a intricately carved hourglass, that James recognised from his father's stories as a Time Turner. The whole thing sat on a spindly base, with a tag tied to it.

James hesitantly tugged the tag out so he could read it.

_M. C. H. to J. A. P._

_Multiple Unknowns_

Not particularly informative. Just what was this thing for anyway? Forgetting all the times that curiosity had gotten Potters nearly killed before, he went to pick it up. However, Luna choose that moment to return.

"Oh hello James."

Started, he turned and elbowed the contraption. Which proceeded to roll off the table and smash into the concrete floor. Both the hourglass and the crystal shattered, flinging sand and smoke all over James.

There was a voice, "_One to solve the riddle..."_ but James soon couldn't hear it over the rushing in his ears. He saw Luna enter... blurs... his dad staring... running. There was a blinding light. Then nothing.

* * *

Harry James Potter was not bored. Worried, annoyed and angry, yes. Bored, no. It had been two weeks since The Accident, and even Harry knew he spent too much time sitting in the shed just watching James knock the Prophecy Viewer over. Looping a few seconds, the wire ball rolling, falling, breaking, then rewinding. What drew his attention were James' eyes, flicking from the door to Harry himself. He was sure that James could see him.

It was this fervent belief that had made him prevent the Unspeakables from popping the time bubble. Sure the Time Turner cabinet had merely completed its fall, but Harry _knew_ that doing so here would have dire consequences. Fortunately, Luna agreed and with her pseudo-sight and Unspeakable status, backing him up, other options were being investigated.

"You're the only one who can stand this level of exposure, you know." Luna said conversationally, when she sat cross legged next to him. Luna and Harry had been rather distant since in a way all this was her fault.

"What? Exposure?" Harry asked bewildered, he would've thought that he'd be the least able to stand watching his son trapped like this.

"Most people start hearing voices, seeing things, after half an hour of watching him. We're fairly sure you should be insane by now."

"People have said so before," Harry noted. "So explain what the thing was meant to do before my eldest broke it. Hermione's explanation was far too complicated."

"That's cause we're not sure. The linking of Record and Turner was meant to either show us the actual telling of the prophecy or its fulfilment. Honestly, I think Hermione just wondered what would happen. Being an Unspeakable does that to you after a while."

"What prophecy was it?"

"It was made in 1977, by the then divination professor, Maximilian Hancock, to his class, which incidentally contained your father."

Harry groaned, "And why did it take two weeks for someone to tell me that?"

"Because it was obvious."

"What?"

"People forget the obvious, because of Nargles mostly."

"Speaking of obvious, how did Hermione get a prophecy anyway? I thought they drove people mad."

"Only people they don't like."


	2. Resparked (HPTransformers)

HP/Transformers crossover. After the War, Harry is betrayed by the Wizarding World (_surprise_) again. He, Hermione and Teddy are sent through the veil. In apology for his sucky life, the Powers That Be send him and his family into a new world, along with a dash of de-aging for a second chance. They may have failed to mention the upcoming arrival of extra-terrestrial sentient giant robots.

**Prologue: The Last Trial of The-Boy-Who-Lived**

"This court finds this monstrosity to be an affront against nature and magic," Umbridge said in that grating simper of hers. She was in her element. "The abomination will be disposed of forthwith."

Both silenced, Harry sent as much love and promise to where little Teddy was trying to disappear. And when a metamorphmagus tries to disappear they do. His arms had become wooden and flat where they were chained to the chair, and the rest of him was determinedly mimicking the grimy leather seat.

The masked figure of Walden Macnair stomped across the "courtroom". Harry knew this room, but it wasn't courtroom ten, it was the Veil Room. About half the Wizengamut was seated around the amphitheatre, though definitely biased against him. Harry was unsure why it would be so, why hadn't Umbridge just limited it to people she was sure back her if she wanted an audience? He couldn't really bring himself to care though.

Macnair hoisted the silently frantic toddler over his shoulder and tossed him through the Veil. _Tossed_ him.

Harry's cynical resignation was washed away in a fury so intense he wondered if Voldemort was around. Some small part of him noted his shackles were _humming_ with suppressed magic.

"Harry James Potter, you are brought before this court on charges of murder, line theft, practising forbidden arts, as well as other minor charges too numerous to list. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Harry ground out.

"Having seen the evidence, I bring this to a vote. All who find the defendant not guilty?"

Maybe a quarter raised the wands. None of them were happy. Harry managed a weak smile of thanks to them. Umbridge seemed unhappy that some people would dare disagree with her.

"All who find the defendant guilty?"

The rest raised theirs, vicious and triumphant smirks on their faces.

"This court finds the defendant guilty. And thus sentenced to the Veil. Blackhood if you would."

The moment the chains loosened, Harry stood and strode up to the Veil. He turned to face the assembly.

"Farewell, those of you who see the true monsters here, I plead you leave. Magical England is too sick to continue, I wish you the best of luck elsewhere. For the rest, magic as my witness I curse you, may you receive every suffering you so truly deserve."

Harry spun on his heel and walked through the Veil. Not bothering to witness their horrified faces as the cursed saw a lightning bolt appear on the back of their hands.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure what he expected to find on the other side of the Veil, but it he expected _something_. All he saw was white, and felt nothing but the brush of fabric as he moved. He was knocked out of wondering where the whisperers were by a child's cry.

Teddy!

Harry pushed his way through, and almost tripped over the wailing toddler. He'd sounded much further away than he apparently had been.

"Hush, little Teddy-bear. Harry's here," he soothed, rocking and humming. The little guy's crying subsided, to sniffling, and quite quickly he was curled up asleep against Harry's chest. Leaving him at a loss again. "Now what?"

_**We talk, my dear child.**_

The voice came of nowhere, and though every paranoid instinct war had ingrained on him screamed for him to tense, Harry felt himself relaxing. There was a warmth in the voice that he didn't quite recognise but reminded him oddly of Ollivander.

**Perhaps you should explain, sister.**

Another voice, cool and impersonal. Harry got the impression that the second speaker was a perfectionist, but the voice held promise of something else.

_**Oh yes, I am Maga.**_

**And I am called Primus. I am to technology what my sister Maga is to magic.**

"Nice to meet you, but since I went through the Veil of Death shouldn't I be talking with him?"

_**The Veil isn't just a gateway to death. What it is a gateway to here. The Forum of The Powers That Be. People don't come back from it because we judge and send them somewhere else. **_

**Sadly people forgot its purpose, so all we've received in recent years were criminals.**

_**Well...**_ Maga began before breaking into a chime-like giggle. **_There have been one or two good souls, who have come before us._**

"Hermione? Sirius?" Harry couldn't stop himself asking.

"Right in one, kiddo!"

Harry whirled to face his godfather. Who looked quite well, actually. The worn, haunted look he'd had for all the time Harry knew him was gone. His eyes glinted with mischief, something Harry had only seen a handful of times.

"So, what are you doing here then?" Sirius began, affecting a stern demeanour and shaking his finger at Harry, "I'm fairly sure I ordered quite explicitly in my will that we shouldn't meet until you'd raised some mini-Prongslets."

"What? I never heard your will, and closest I'm likely to get to a mini-me is Teddy here."

Said toddler was looking at Sirius curiously. He waved and his appearance changed to mimic a baby-Sirius. With bright green hair.

Sirius laughed at the young metamorphmagus' antics, then frowned, "Dumbledore barred you I take it?" He gestured vaguely. "Doesn't matter, so what was wrong with Hermione? You seemed to like each other."

Harry's confusion grew. "Hermione? Ewww, she's my sister. What happened to her anyway? She went through the Veil just before us."

_**Sorry, but she went on. Her tasks were done and she had no debts owed to her. Nor could Primus claim her.**_

Harry felt the patented crush of a Hermione-Hug and a whisper in his ear, "_Don't worry, we'll find each other again. Look after yourself and Teddy for me._"

"Of course," he whispered back. Then what Maga said triggered a wash of dread. "Tasks, debts," Harry groaned, "Why do I have a feeling I'm not going to like this?"

**On the contrary, we think you will like it very much.**

_**But before we get to that, I feel I should explain my hopes in your old life. First off, Dumbledore was meant to deal with Riddle. Then when it became desperate, I set up the prophecy.**_

"What!"

_**Calm down, I handed it off to Fate, who took some liberties with it. You were just meant to halt Riddle. The respite would give Dumbledore time to deal with the Horcruxes. But nooo... Fate had to...**_ Maga's further comments disappeared into indecipherable rumbles.

**Give my sister a moment to collect herself. You should know, you are one of her favourites. She did all she could, but the Dursleys' rejection of magic severely hampered her freedom to interfere. Worse still they didn't believe in _anything_ to the point that no Power could act.**

_**Thank you brother. As I was saying, Riddle's defeat shouldn't have been on your shoulders. Nevertheless you bore that burden and I can't describe how proud I am. No, the task I had in mind for you was safer, though much more complex.**_

Harry's ever present curiosity spiked, and he hesitantly asked, "And this task was?"

_**To prepare the wizarding world to rejoin the non-wizarding. Soon the muggles will uncover them, and would you consider the wizards ready to meet the muggles as equals?**_

"No, not at all," Harry replied without hesitation.

_**I asked my brother for help, he gave you a gift which you only really discovered after Riddle's defeat. **_

"The technomagic I was working on?"

**Yes. Though I merely gave you a talent for understanding and repairing things, and prevented you developing a wizard's technological blindness. You deduced how to mix things.**

"So you're going to send me back?" Harry subduely asked. Maga had outlined a task he had yet to finish, one he didn't even know he'd been working on. It had been nice to see Sirius again, and to see Teddy off into his care.

There was a silence then, Harry felt Maga's odd presence squeezing his shoulders.

_**My dear Harry, you really think I'm sending you back to help those poor excuses for beings? No, they've raised their wands, they'll have to weather their curses. And yours, I'm going to have so much fun with that.**_

**As we said, the purpose of the Forum is to determine where to send you on to. Maga has released you from the task she gave you, and we've worked together to make up for what you've suffered.**

"Have you?" Harry prompted slowly, he'd suffered quite a bit from people doing things for his own good.

"Yeah! They have, and I think it sounds really neat!"

Harry grimaced, he wasn't sure whether Sirius' seal of approval was a good thing or not.

_**We've organised a chance for you to experience what our mistakes destroyed; a normal childhood. **_Maga paused and Harry waited for the other shoe to drop. He was not disappointed as Maga's voice became apologetic and sombre, **_Not with your parents sadly. Even we can't bring them back without a sacrifice none of you would wish to pay. You'll see them eventually, and you'll have forever to get to know each other._**

**You won't be with your parents, but you will get a chance to grow up under Sirius' care.**

Harry looked askance at Sirius who was dancing with eagerness. How was he meant to be a parent if he hadn't grown up himself? Slowly surrendering to the inevitability of this "final reward", Harry asked a couple last questions, "So, how is this going to work? How young am I going to be? And what's going to happen to Teddy?"

**We'll be sending you to one of the worlds under my purview. Another Earth, without magic or Maga's children. However, I have my own, who you may meet. In fact, I will in a sense be adopting you all. Besides technology, my other dominion is change. Sirius learnt to change himself, and Teddy is almost nothing but change. Though you won't have magic, I hope my gifts will make up for it.**

_**As for your ages. Teddy will stay four. You and Sirius will each have the twelve years you missed together returned to you. Leaving you nine and him thirty.**_

"Okay, sounds good. I don't want to go through toilet training again."

"Nor do I want to teach you, pup."

"So... what's the catch?"

**_Only that you take._** Maga's unhelpful comment was all Harry heard as his world went white.

* * *

The plan is place Harry in an unusual position as far as these crossovers go. He'll know Sam (and the Witwickys) as Teddy's best friend, not a friend of his. Harry will be a few years older than Sam, and by the time the movie begins he's already a self-made software millionaire. I plan on skipping through most of the movie, with just snap-shots of the beginnings of the butterfly effect. Harry won't be following Sam's plot-line as per SOP for these crossovers, in fact he'll be with Maggie (the signal analysis lady). Teddy may-or-may-not tag along Sam's plot-line. Most of the story in my head picks up after the film, heading off in its own direction. Especially with significant events of Mission City going differently (the Cube? Not destroyed).


	3. Poison and Tears (HP AU)

1st Year: Stone

2nd Year: Harry hunts for family, contact Lupin

3rd Year: Camber

4th Year: PoA

5th Year: Not much, OWLs

6th Year: Triwiz

7th Year: HP transfers, HG and NL deal with Umbridge

**Poison and Tears: Chapter 1**

Harry exhaled the stale air of Dudley's second bedroom.

And inhaled the heady perfume of the Silvam Bestiae.

Harry sat, back against a rock in a clearing. It was a stunningly beautiful place, far more real and natural than any place found in the real, natural, waking world. The wizard smiled, Neville would love this place for the plants alone.

The animals were what Harry cared for though. They circled, showing mere glimpses – a flick of an ear, a curious eye, a slinking tail. In the grass were the smaller animals, whilst the larger hid in the trees surrounding the meadow.

Thus begun the animal parade, they would approach and consider him while he considered them. That was the purpose of this meditation – to find his beast. Fortunately he had only to meet a leader of each family of animals, not every single species. The Dog rather than looking at the Labrador, the Terrier, etc.

The parade worked its way up the food chain (a fact that still made him laugh thinking about Skeeter or Pettigrew), but none of the prey appealed. He may have been preyed upon in the past, but that wasn't something he cared to let continue.

That said, when the majestic stag approached, he was thoughtful. He stood to meet the buck, and bowed. He may be doing this in no small part to follow in his father's footsteps but he wasn't planning on becoming even more of a clone. The stag stepped closer still and butted his head softly with Harry. A silent message that it would accept him. Harry merely shook his head and offered an apologetic smile.

The Stag huffed, nibbled at his hair and walked back into the trees.

Nibbled on his hair.

_Argh, what the hell?_ Harry thought to himself while he futilely tried to fix his hair. Ignoring the headache the stag's behaviour had wrought, he looked back as the parade resumed.

Predators now the Hunted Royal had had his moment, starting small again. Harry passed on the smaller hunters, while good tactically, as escape and spy forms, something in him called for something more. Probably the part that had faced a basilisk at fourteen and a dragon at sixteen.

Not that he hadn't seriously considered the Small Cat (well compared to the Big Cat). Nobody would doubt his curiosity or knack for near fatal, near misses. The Dog had been as playful as Padfoot at his worst, slobbering _everywhere_, but left the distinct impression of "Nice to meet ya, let's be friends even if you're not a dog"

_Wait, if the Dog's over there, why does it still feel like someone's licking my face?_

It took a moment for Harry to guess that maybe something was happening in the real world. Exhaling the woody air, Harry breathed in and spluttered as he got a mouthful of doggie drool.

"Damnit Padfoot! What you do that for?"

"We needed to wake you up, Harry," Remus explained in that annoyingly reasonable tone. Like he hadn't just sicced his half-insane best friend on his honorary godson.

"Right, what's the occasion?"

"Well, pup, it's your birthday for one thing," Sirius replied from where he was poking through Dudley's cast-offs.

Harry glanced at his alarm clock, "Not for another five minutes, Siri. And the Headmaster's letter said that the Order was coming for me at noon."

"Good thing we decided to break you out early, isn't it!"

* * *

"So what's going on?" Harry questioned once they were safely in Grimmauld's kitchen. He knew something was up, because when wasn't there. Plus his godfathers looked uncomfortable, like the bearers of bad news. "If it's something bad, I promise not to shoot the messenger."

The two older wizards engaged in a silent, occular battle of "you tell him", Sirius lost.

"You know about magical majorities right?" Harry nodded. "Well, yours might be a bit messy."

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed for the first time since Voldemort's resurrection.

"Kind of expecting it to be. Is there some creature inheritance? 'Cause if I'm turning into a troll or something, I'm not going to be happy." Another silent look was exchanged, obviously this wasn't the reaction they were expecting. "Oh, stop that. Didn't you hear about Ranwick? Went through his right at the Hufflepuff table at lunch a couple of years back. Turns out his unknown father was a merman. Lives in the Black Lake with dad now. So as long as it's not something like that I don't mind that much."

"It's kinda a creature inheritance, and you will get it from your dad. We think."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "You think?"

"As Padfoot said, it's a kind of creature inheritance," Remus began, falling back into his professor-mode. "As you've been working on you animagus training, I was rereading the material, since I knew neither of you would. And came across as note that concerned me. Animagi are registered, do you know where?"

"The ministry? Who cares?"

"You should. And the answer is the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Do you know why?"

"I'm guessing that the ministry considers them to be creatures. But why? Animagi are just wizards who can do one wandless, human transfiguration."

"Not quite. To become an animagus means becoming part that animal. Strictly speaking, Padfoot here isn't human but a were-mutt. The reason we think it might effect you is that James went through his majority as an animagus. So according to the books I read, being a stag animagus or were-stag might be passed down to you."

"Wait, I've been doing my meditation. Sure the Stag's friendly, but I didn't choose it. And it didn't seem to mind."

"Nothing to worry about then!" Sirius said, "Now I would offer you some fire-whiskey, but even I know going through your majority drunk is a bad idea. Now you were born at quarter to midnight, so we've got a few hours to fill."

The three talked, sharing news (the Ministry was denying everything, the Prophet was slandering Harry, the Cannons won three games) and stories (the first prank –Potter on Black, the day Remus crossdressed without anyone noticing, Harry's account of The Rescue of Padfoot).

"...so we made it back just in time to see ourselves leaving. We were knackered an extra three hours of adventure? Too much." Harry looked thoughtful, "Actually, when nothing much happened on Hermione's seventeenth, she confessed that all the time turner abuse had caused her majority to strike early, in the first week of holidays."

"Early?" Remus asked, drawing the trio's eyes to the mantle-piece clock, saying it was quarter to nine. Then a flicker drew them back to Harry.

"Harry, did you know you're on fire?"

* * *

Harry didn't hear the question because he was watching the parade again. Well it skipped to the Stag, who nibbled his hair. _Again!_ The Dog and Small Cat joined it in watching from the sidelines.

The Big Cat approached. They stared at each other, then bowed to one another. However it merely sauntered over to lie next to him. Harry idly rubbed it behind the ears and was rewarded by a massive, rumbling purr.

He wondered what next. He couldn't think of any predators above the Big Cat. His musing was pierced by the shrill cry of the Falcon as it landed before him. Along with the other birds of prey. All gave him a cursory glance and took flight (not without a friendly finger-nip from the Owl) but the Falcon, which flapped up to his shoulder.

Silence returned. Harry looked at his new companions.

"Now what? How do I choose between you two?"

The Big Cat and Falcon fell into a staring contest. After a long stressful silence, they turned their stare on Harry briefly, then returned to each other. The Big Cat roared, and the Falcon shrieked.

The ringing in his ears may have prevented him hearing it but Harry certainly felted the earth rumble and the shadow overheard. Looking up and behind he saw something he never wanted to see again.

The Basilisk.

Eyes shut, he scrambled back.

_§Why do you run, child?§ _Well that froze him in place. Certainly a lot less crazy than the last basilisk he met. _§Open your eyes, child. My sight will not strike you.§_

_§Yeah, right§_ Harry replied, _§Why are you here?§_

_§I mean no harm. Merely to claim what is mine.§_

_§I'm not yours. And I don't want to be.§_

_§You are not? Does not my tongue fall from yours, my blood run in your veins?§_

Before Harry had to answer, another more welcome sound filled the clearing. Piping music, seeming to echo from everywhere. Accompanied by a warm weight on his shoulder.

_§Foul Firebird, he is mine!§_

The Phoenix trilled something in return.

_§Tears are nothing! Merely water! My venom, my blood! They lay claim.§_

More trilling.

_§Fine. We shall fight, to the victor, the child.§_

"Wait, what?" Harry interrupted. "It's my decision, and I choose not you, snake."

_§Insolent wizardling. You think this is your choice. You offer yourself to us the Beasts and think you're in power? Fool.§_

Dread filled Harry, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. All the books said that the choice of animagus form was an agreement between wizard and beast. They'd also said that magical creatures were impossible, but the Basilisk didn't seem to care.

And it would win. Sure, the Phoenix was immune to its killing gaze but what real damage could it do? The best chance was the Big Cat, but Harry still doubted it would win.

While he was panicking, Harry somewhat was aware of the sounds of battle. But it took a triumphant trill and angry _§Damn bird. They take years to grow back§_ for him to open his eyes.

The Basilisk reared, angry and spitting, in the centre of clearing, coiled around his stone seat. It's eyes were mangled and the Phoenix circled, urging on the Big Cat's attack. The Falcon harried the snake, shrieking its frustration. It rose into the air and dived.

Into the back of the Big Cat. The feline staggered then roared as wings unfurled from its back. A great beat and it was airborne. Front paws now armed with the Falcon's talons, grown to foot long knives, it raked the Basilisk's nose.

A few more blows and the Basilisk lay torn and bleeding.

_§I surrender§_

The now winged Cat roared its victory and padded towards Harry.

"Guess I don't have to choose between you now," he grinned. To make his pact with his chosen beast, he had to surrender to it. Let it mark him. He bowed and offered his neck like a kitten.

The Cat rumbled its approval and licked its huge, rough tongue across him first. Looking down at a rustle in the grass, he saw an acid green snake, only four feet long but he knew it was the Basilisk cheating.

"No!" he called at the same time the Phoenix trilled.

Instinct made the Cat bite down, probably harder than it meant. But not hard enough to drown out the burning bite in his ankle or peck at his other shoulder.

Burning, inside and out, took Harry into blackness.

* * *

The burning receded and Harry woke to find himself in a bedroom. The stale smell and dark décor told him he was still at Grimmauld. Stretching like a cat, Harry slipped out of bed. The second door he tried was the ensuite and he relieved himself before turning to the mirror to see the damage.

It was quite a bit.

Where to start? His hair was as messy as ever, except that it seemed to now be feathers. His face stuck out a bit, and the shape around his eyes had changed to make the whole more feline. His eyes were the same colour, though now slitted, like a cat (or a snake).

From his back two black wings flapped as he tried to hold them comfortably. The feathers were inky but seemed to burn red when the light hit them just right. Looking down at himself showed that gone was his human skin, replaced with snake-skin on his belly, fur on his back. And that yes, he did have a tail, tipped with a tuft of feathers.

Holding his head in his clawed, paw-like hands Harry groaned (though it was more of a rumble) to himself.

"I never get a break do I?"

Hoping that if this was all an animagus transformation gone wrong, Harry closed his eyes and focused hard on what he should look like. He opened his eyes.

"It worked!"

Well mostly, still had the slitted eyes and feathers for hair. And the moment he stopped concentrating, he reverted to the winged, furred, _whatever_ form.

"Merlin, damnit. Oh fuck it. Better see if Lupin can fix this."

Harry checked himself once more, but nothing had changed. Not seeing shirts being a possibility for now, he shrugged and left the bedroom. Following the scents and sounds of his godfathers, he padded down to the drawing room.

"This messier than you were thinking, Moony?"

Said werewolf seemed petrified by his appearance, but some instinct told him that his gaze was currently no more dangerous than normal.

"Well, pup, at least you got taller."

* * *

And thus Harry opts to transfer to a more creature friendly academy than Hogwarts, and much slash ensues.

Though, Hermione (in addition to an early majority, it was the return of certain potion mistakes) and Neville (his green thumb is superhuman) are left to deal with Umbridge. Until they are hounded out of the castle.

The only other thing of note attached to this idea is the Shadow Accords which are shameless rip-off/combination of the Shadow Proclamation from Doctor Who and the Unseelie Accords from the Dresden Files.


	4. An Odd Boy, Man, Master (HP-SPN)

**An Odd Child, an Odd Man, an Odd Master**

Harry Potter was an odd child. No one denied that.

* * *

Not his parents when his accidental magic came to light. Earlier than normal. Stronger than normal. Less accidental than normal.

Yes it was odd, but they proud.

(Except the small voices in the back of their minds fearing that this is what the prophecy was about and that their precious son would be thrown into battle)

* * *

Not his parents' murderer when he looked down at the toddler, who looked back. Not with fear. Not with curiosity, confusion, innocence or anything he would expect.

But pity. As if the child saw the wounds on his soul.

(Not that the mad wizard saw the mother's grace wrap protectively around the boy. And what is killing hate against undying love?)

* * *

Not his hateful aunt and uncle. No, they never shied from telling him how odd, how unnatural, how much of a _freak_, the boy was. They did their best to purge him, but it was futile, because without the oddness, there was no child.

And the oddness they saw was the oddness the aunt expected, so not that odd really.

(What _was_ odd, was the way the child healed animals he found, listened to voices only he could hear tell him stories only he could understand of the beginning of the world and the wonders of it)

* * *

Not his bullying cousin. There was _something_ about the boy that wasn't of this world. When he was cornered at would look so sadly at his tormentors. As if he saw something in them, something that their punches hurt more than they did the child.

That look only made him punch and chase and hunt harder.

(When the cousin was attacked by invisible demons, he would remember. And he understand more, not all, but more than he had. It may be too late, but he had to change, for down that path lead a destination no one wished to reach)

* * *

Not the child himself. He knew he was odd, different. Because it was himself, he saw all the others did. But he had no model for normal that he cared to emulate, so he was himself.

Quietly, unobtrusively, but always himself.

(He watched, he saw, he learnt. Hoping to see what separated him from other people. Or maybe someone like him, someone he could talk to about the beauty of the world)

* * *

Not the half-giant. The boy-who-lived wasn't what he was expecting. Dressed in rags, thin as a willow. But something in his gaze, the smile offered when he saw the cake.

That was right. Right in a way, a unicorn foal playing in the moonlight was only a shadow of.

(Or the vicious grin, that was worse than a basilisk rampaging in a muggle primary school. For though the child was by nature virtuous and forgiving, he still knew hate and vengeance. His relatives would pay, one day)

* * *

Not the schoolchildren. Their saviour was just a little odd. A Gryffindor, good. A Quidditch prodigy, good. But he kept to himself. Seemed to be in his own little world. And the older, more practised students swore there was something funky about his magic.

There was, but it might be more accurate to say that he was a star in a sea of torches, something truer, _more_.

(The castle knew and spoke with the child. Eagerly taking the radiance offered and whispering secrets, stories of students past. Stories of the child's parents that no one was there to share)

* * *

Not the Headmaster. Looking down at the sleeping figure surrounded by chocolate, cards and an I.O.U. for a toilet seat. The child did more than he hoped, tore through his plans, did what was hard and right rather than what was easy.

But how could heroism be normal? It had to be odd.

(What the elderly wizard didn't realise was that there was nothing harder for the child than to do nothing. Though, if they ever got the chance to really talk, he'd discover the child objected to the idea of a Greater Good)

* * *

Not the child's best friend. It was a hard role to fulfil. The child was nothing like any other he'd met, certainly not like his brothers. The strategist considered, and realised the child wasn't a child. And made it his duty to show him how.

Sometimes for a few minutes, he did, and saw the same _right_ smile the grounds keeper was rewarded with.

(The child played along but couldn't forget himself for long. In his heart of hearts he knew himself to be many things – Warrior, Trickster, Seeker, Leader, and more – but none of them child. No child should have the duty he knew lay before him)

* * *

Not the memory wraith. Not when the fearsome basilisk lay down in supplication, hissing _§Forgive me, my prince§_ Not when the child nodded more regal than the Headboy had ever been enthroned before his pureblood court.

Not when the basilisk turned on him and sent the first of him to damnation.

(The child knew not why the snake said any of that, but accepted it as yet another of his oddities and rolled with it. Fortunately the damsel didn't wake, so he told a story suitably more heroic. He visited the "KIA" snake during his schooling, planning on finding a home for it when he graduated)

* * *

Not the child's other best friend, she saw the child's oddness. But accepted it as any number of things she'd been taught to accept. What irked her was the child's approach to his studies. He didn't care for theory, yet given the barest incentive mastered spells beyond what any would believe possible.

Yet a selfish part of her needed to be needed to show him the words.

(She would've been horrified to learn that he needed the help because his trustworthy instincts said that her books were wrong. The truth was simpler and grander than any theory a wizard penned)

* * *

Not the godfather, when he saw his godchild again. He'd forgotten just how odd the boy was. He hadn't had a bad memory of the babe, so he had none at all of him in the prison. But seeing him again, revealed again how the child was odd. Odd but wonderful.

And if the child's loving hug did more than any amount of chocolate, well that was to be expected.

(Which is true, though the child's love was greater than any other's. A love that summoned to do battle would lay low a thousand hellish fiends)

* * *

Not his fellow champions. For all their protests, none really thought the goblet had made a mistake in choosing him. Especially when he gave Saint George a run for his money.

But they did laugh to themselves at his nervousness at the thought of dancing. It made him human.

(It didn't, but the child had never seen a ball before, so he didn't know what to do. He did what he always did, he survived)

* * *

Not the betraying rat. He knew the oddness of the boy who spared him, who even now he was hurting more. An oddness literally bleeding into the ritual sending the final potion a nauseating acid rainbow rather than blinding white.

And as the boy fled, so did his last hope.

(The child had plans for the rat, but he'd been caught by surprise. He really should have expected something, something always happened. It was one of the odd things about him)

* * *

Not the toad, she saw wrongness in everything he said and did. The boy courted chaos and lied as easily as he breathed.

Blinded by hate, yet another failed to see his true nature and true oddness.

(She wasn't wrong, the child did lie and revel in chaos. It was just what she called lies were truths and chaos sowing was peace protecting)

* * *

Not the mad black witch, odd and broken herself. She might have seen him clearest, but then she was travelling in the opposite direction at about the same speed.

She never admitted it, but she feared the next time she saw the child in battle.

(Luckily she never faced him wand to wand, and was glad the spy was the focus of his rage the time she almost did. In her last battle, she giddy relief let her fall to a raging mother)

* * *

Not the schoolyard rival. He had seen the boy's oddness at first glance, which is why he didn't even conceive that he could've been the child he was meant to befriend. The oddities grew and even as he toiled to save his family, he knew the boy would ruin his plans.

Oddly enough, the boy didn't, not for lack of trying.

(Even with the castle talking to him, no one was listening to the boy, so his warnings fell on deaf ears. And his odd behaviour was ignored like so much else)

* * *

Not the young man's secret bodyguard. Ever watching, the spy saw more than most and if asked would've been best able to match quirks to each of the boy's parents. People forgot in nostalgia, but each had been about as half as odd as their son.

He would go to his final reward holding these traitorous thoughts to himself.

(It was these oddities that drew him to his precious flower – or more accurately her to him, and repelled him from the boy's father. She was sweet and kind, he brought ruin and chaos)

* * *

Not even Death. When it met its new Master in the guise of his beloved headmaster, it saw him truly for nothing can hide from Death (except its Master's forebears with its cloak). And really should've expected this, only its little brother could actually derail plans from the beginning of creation like this.

Once his odd little master had returned to the world of the living, Death raised a glass in silent salute.

(Not that Death was really upset. Very rarely did something or someone surprise him. Even with freewill, millennia of observation made humans quite predictable. The last to surprise him had fittingly been his Master's ancestor)

* * *

So if he hadn't been cut out of the loop, Lucifer wouldn't have been so surprised when he summoned Death with sacrifice in Carthage, Missouri.

Instead of the dreaded fourth horseman, the devil received an unassuming young man. Dressed in black, a hooded cloak even, but the fallen archangel's sensed that this wasn't death. Someone Important but not Death.

Staring into the sparkling green eyes, Lucifer couldn't think anything other than that something odd was going on.

In a tone suggesting that the speaker was starting to get tired of all this nonsense (which is quite a demeaning way to label an integral part of the Apocalypse) the stranger asked:

"Who and you and what do you want?"

* * *

First of three ideas for a HP/Supernatural crossover floating around in my head. Two-and-a-half of which feature angel!Harry, cause I love him.

Not that by the final drabble Harry knows about his angelic heritage really. Plenty of cryptic hints, and really how can a mortal be the Master of Death? So he would learn as the story went along and he joined Team Free-Will. He would show great potential but also great ignorance, thus preventing a complete short-circuiting of the Supernatural plot.

Probably slash. Sam/Harry most likely.

The actual plot bunny follows, which is the scenes revealing Harry's odd heritage. So beware spoilers I guess.

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* * *

The Trickster grimaced to himself, why was he here again? He was a Norse god, he really had no place at a Methodist bake sale in Surrey of all places.

Oh right, he was hiding from his adopted family. They really needed to loosen up, it wasn't _his_ fault that the pantheon was old news. Get with the century deities! Smell the chocolate!

Anyway, on his sort of vacation, he was serving out just and ironic punishments on the deserving in England. Well until some hunter or some such "killed" him. He'd been dealing with a particularly unwholesome father, who wouldn't ever hurt anyone again.

Not that the Trickster thought that plaguing the guy with Bieber until he jumped was all that great a trick.

As a reward for a job well done, he'd wandered into this church bake sale and was amusing himself at the incongruencies between appearance, action and soul of the congregation.

He'd never be sure how it happened (especially after vowing not to in face of his children) but at some point he found himself waking up in a strange bedroom.

Looking to his right he saw the housewife it seemed he'd taken advantage of. Well, he could see why. She was beautiful, inside and out, cheesy as it was. Bright red hair, a full figure. If the word had been coined, he would have called her a cougar.

He saw the lines making themselves comfortable on her face, and saw that her husband was not so faithful himself. He'd offered comfort as thanks for the best caramel slice he'd ever tasted. Just an ear to listen and vague promises of retribution, not _that_.

A gasp from the door drew his attention to the pony-faced little girl at the door. Suddenly reminded of the consequences he might be causing, the god willed himself up and dressed.

With a snap of his fingers, memories adjusted so that nothing had happened. Just a lucky full night's rest for the mother.

The Trickster wouldn't know two things:

1) The girl may have forgotten but something in her knew that something had violated her and her family

2) His daughter would have his smile

* * *

Charlus Potter was not by nature a superstitious man. However, wizardry and prayer had failed him. Even some of the darker options that he'd tried. The others asked for things he wouldn't give – his wife, innocents, or worse. More than himself: which was all that he could give.

So it came to this.

The new moon hung black in a cloudless sky above the crossroads. The wizard checked his offering box – a moving photo (kind of old to not have his wife Dorea), some graveyard dirt (from Godric's Hollow, it seemed right) and a bone from a black cat (his dear Hogwarts familiar, Sooty, dead for a decade). Steeling himself he buried the box.

Normally a crossroads demon would've responded and granted the elderly wizard's wish for a son and heir. He wouldn't have seen James make it to Hogwarts but would've died happy in his son.

However, all the offerings were magic, and thus caught the attention of a being far more powerful than any demon.

Above wizards, demons, gods and angels were the Powers. The highest Powers were God/Life/Creation and Death/Destruction, but there were others. Such as Fate/Continuation would drew the path between. Or the Deviant/Transformation who did his best to undo his siblings' plans, and had been in this universe since he tempted Eve with a fruit.

"Good evening, Charlus."

A deal was struck, and Charlus went home and conceived a son that very night. Extremely fortunate, the wizard would see his son fall in love and receive his Headboy badge, but not graduate.

And if James had an inexplicable prankster streak; and a need to ruin plans and cause chaos, Charlus didn't care.


	5. The Boy Seraph (HP-SPN)

**The Boy Seraph**

_seraph (pl: seraphim, seraphs)_

A rank and type of angel, their choir being the highest in the Christian hierarchy of nine choirs. Literally translating to the "burning ones". Sometimes "seraph" is used as a synonym for "serpent" in the Hebrew Bible (possibly due to the burning nature of venom). They are described as fiery, six-winged beings. However, they cover themselves with at least two of these pairs, lest they burn all who look upon them (including lesser angels).

They represent God's love, are caretakers for his throne and continuously shout his praises "Holy, holy, holy

_- Extract from "The Winchester Encyclopaedia" Vol II Religious and Profane Beings _

* * *

It wasn't a one in a million chance. People forget that a one in a million chance for a population of almost seven billion results in seven thousand results.

It was a one in a million chance for someone to survive the situation that Harry Potter found himself in – facing a preserved memory and a thousand year old basilisk, wandless and alone.

So Harry Potter would make it through nine times out of ten.

What was far _less_ than a one in a million chance is what happened in this particular world. It wasn't a one in a million million chance, more of a one in a million million million million million, you get the idea, chance. Basically it would only happen once in the entirety of existence.

It began after Harry Potter slayed the beast and lay sinking into oblivion as the king of serpents' venom burned him from the inside out. The phoenix landed on the boy, already tearing up to soothe and cure his wound.

"...even the bloody phoenix knows you're a lost cause," the shade drawled, "it's crying. Wait. Phoenix tears! _Avada Kedavra._"

Green lightning struck the bird and the Chamber was consumed in flame.

* * *

The horcrux's aim was true and fast enough to prevent the bird healing the boy. However, his choice of curses would result something much worse for him than a healed child. Well the real him, since the cleansing flames destroyed the horcrux and its container.

To explain what happened we will have to step back a bit. There are two main facts about phoenixes that are general knowledge, and one that isn't:

A) phoenix tears are one of the most potent healing substances in the world, even able to cure basilisk venom.

B) when a phoenix dies (or is killed) it is reborn in purifying fire.

C) phoenixes are a type of fallen angel, not vile enough for hell but sentenced to penance on Earth and regular burning until they're forgiven.

So in trying to stop Fawkes using A, Riddle caused B to happen. As the fire is purifying it would kill an evil soul consumed in it but cleanse a shining soul. Thus, Harry Potter was safe from being burned.

However it being _Harry Potter_ things can't be that simple. Because there are a few relevant facts about the child that are important:

D) he was touched at an early age by such love that it still burnt those who touched him with hate.

E) the most powerful snake venom in the world was burning him from the inside out.

F) Harry Potter was innocent who'd died doing a righteous act (yes, the horcrux prevented Fawkes saving his life. And yes, Harry was an innocent, Quirrell's death was self defence)

It can't be quite said which of these facts (or whether it was something else even) was the reason for what happened but it most likely was a combination of D and F.

Whatever the reason, when Fawkes was forced to burn, Harry Potter was consumed by the flames as well.

And was reborn.

* * *

Harry staggered upright, surprised that he was alive. The venom and fire had burned so fiercely. Looking around the Chamber he discovered that it was radically different than it had been.

It was brighter now, like noon in the great hall on a sunny day. Though Harry couldn't see any torches he figured there was some light charm or something. But also there was a heaviness in the air that had been lifted.

The basilisk was nowhere to be seen, just a line of ash where he'd thought it was. Nor could he see the diary or Riddle. Though his wand was laying where the memory had been. This probably should have worried him, but some instinct told him that the shade was no longer a problem.

A chirp drew Harry's attention down to what he was holding his hands, a little bedraggled looking chick.

"Oh, 'lo Fawkes. Seems we're not dead."

A nod and another chirp.

"Yeah, any idea what happened to Riddle?"

A low trill.

"I kind of felt that too. Guess I should wake Ginny and get out of here."

Fawkes let out a warbling, which sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"What do you mean cover myself?" However Harry looked down to discover that yes, he was naked. And a glance had him blushing as he realised that Ginny was too. Seemed their clothes had burned with everything else.

Suddenly feeling terribly exposed, Harry drew in on himself. Barely registering the darkening of the room. And completely unaware of six wings hiding his newly tempered grace. Fawkes protested the loss of warmth but only snuggled closer to Harry.

Harry had (and always would be) a shining example of people's ability to go above and beyond in times of desperation. So, though he wouldn't be able to do it on command for a couple of years, he was perfectly capable of wandlessly conjuring some basic clothes for him and Ginny.

Clothed and prepared, he crouched next to the girl.

"Hey, Ginny, wake up. He's gone."

"...wha?" Ginny shot up, "Harry! Tom! He's here, you've got to go!"

"Calm down," Harry murmured and she did at his touch. "Tom's gone. He hit Fawkes here with the Killing Curse. Then everything was burning. C'mon, Ron's waiting just outside. Let's get you up."

* * *

For such an impossible occurrence, not much changed from the route Harry's life would've taken. At least not for a little while.

After the story was told, the children were sent on their way. Albus confused about Fawkes' reaction to the curse, but guessing that burning while on Harry drew the boy's magic into the rebirth, amplifying it. He wasn't wrong, but that was the least of it.

Harry's third year was fairly average with an escaped, mad prisoner, who it turned out was his godfather. Only his interactions with the dementors being noteworthy. They seemed a bit bi-polar about him, wanting to draw up his worst memories but afraid of getting too close. A fear rightfully proven when Harry incinerated the dementors who tried to kiss his godfather.

His fourth year saw him dragged into the Triward Tournament. Where he used a flame-freezing charm in the face of dragon fire, something considered impossible. But had difficultly with the lake task.

But it was the third task when things started to change.

* * *

After being kidnapped and used in a resurrection ritual, Harry was quite annoyed. Dare he say pissed. He was still trembling from the torture curse and his leg wasn't all that great.

But he wouldn't let himself appear anything less than ready to fight. His wand was clenched in his hand, and part of Harry couldn't help but wish for something more substantial, like a sword.

"You have been taught how to duel Harry Potter?" said Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness.

Harry contained a snort. No he really hadn't. And he didn't plan on it. Fifteen on one wasn't a fight he could win.

"We bow to each other. Harry," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. "Come, the niceties must be observed… Dumbledore would like you to show manners… Bow to death, Harry..."

Harry gave the smallest of head shakes. He would not bow to this abomination.

"I said, _bow,_" Voldemort said, raising his wand and Harry felt a great weight on his spine. Trying to force him into a bow. He refused.

He stood, straight and tall, and steeled himself. Something in him rose at the dark lord's bullying. Something great and terrible.

Two of Harry's wings unfurled.

None of the wizards saw what the boy had done but all knew he had done something. He suddenly seemed, _larger_ than he had, and now more than they could hope to face.

Those behind Voldemort saw the boy's face and it terrified them more than their master ever had. There is a reason that an angel's customary greeting is "Fear not".

Burning green eyes surveyed the graveyard once more. Uncovering himself had opened his eyes some, and he saw how torn and twisted Riddle was on the inside as well as the outside. And how his followers reflected this. All damned souls.

Voldemort was never one to patiently ignore disobedience, even in his enemies. So when the boy refused to bow to his power, he jumped to his favourite punishment.

"_Avada Kedarva_."

The green light sped at Harry, but with the sound of fluttering wings he was gone. Unimpeded, the curse struck down Nott.

Quicker than any could curse, there were three more flaps and then nothing. Harry, Wormtail, Cedric's body and the cup were gone.

Voldemort was not happy.

* * *

Harry's reappearance caused chaos. The aurors managed to question Wormtail briefly, at Harry's insistence. He confessed to killing Cedric, framing Sirius and hiding with the Weasley's. However when he began to reveal Voldemort's secrets, his new silver hand broke through the bindings to strangle him to death.

No one wanted to believe Harry that Voldemort was back.

In fact, Harry's fifth year was quite full of politics and legalities. Wormtail's interview, brief as it was, was enough to start a push for a trial for Sirius. Also, Harry had to deal with his reputation taking a beating and the ministry hag masquerading as DADA professor.

There were no mysterious dreams, so Arthur was found dead by snakebite just before Christmas. The Weasleys grieved and Harry offered what comfort he could give. Not that he knew what it was like to lose a father, he'd never known his.

He almost learnt what it would be like to loose his, when at the Ministry for Sirius' trial near the end of the year. One moment he was in the visitors gallery waiting for a recess to finish, the next Hermione and Ron were taken hostage and he was being directed at wandpoint. Up a floor and through a mysterious door, a series of rooms filled with junk to a hall filled with dusty orbs.

Just as he couldn't stall any more and was reaching for the so-called prophecy orb, the cavalry arrived. The battle passed in a blur, Harry running with the orb held tightly. The only clear moment being when Bellatrix banished Sirius towards a veil. Something in Harry saw the danger and a pair of wings unfurled. Flying faster than the eye could see, Harry plucked Padfoot out of danger.

Voldemort never showed, but the blatant invasion of the Ministry was enough to put the public on guard and suggest that Harry wasn't delusional. Sirius was acquitted.

Harry's sixth year passed under the tension and knowledge that the war had restarted outside the castle's walls. Inside the castle, Malfoy was shifty, and Harry received lessons on Riddle's history and Dumbledore's horcrux theory.

In his spare time, Harry worked on his other abilities, flying around Hogwarts, a knack for fire conjuration, and learning what his new sight meant. He also found that in that state he heard voices, but none of them seemed to be talking to him, and couldn't decipher what they meant by "Winchesters", "seals" and the various names ending in "-el".

The year ended rather disastrously. Harry and Dumbledore went on a horcrux hunt, finding nothing but a fake and some inferi. At least Harry got to burn them. Death Eaters attacked the castle and Dumbledore was killed.

* * *

Harry was sitting in Durzkaban, meditating in his what he now called his turbo-mode. Yeah it was cheesy but it was only in his head.

Right now he was just listening to the voices. There were hundreds all talking at once, yet he had no difficultly listening to all of them. Suddenly his attention focused on a voice speaking his name.

"_... Potter child. He's on course to complete his destiny and vanquish Riddle. He knows of the soul anchors, and has already destroyed one."_

"_And the others?"_

"_He should find the pendant or tiara easily, they are in places he's resided. And I believe he's seen both in the past. Once he has one, it should lead to the others. I have faith in my charge's abilities."_

"_I hope so Raziel, now what about the outbreak in Laos?"_

Harry tuned out and retracted back into himself. Raziel (whoever that was, he'd considered whether the voices were split personalities in the past) seemed to think he'd seen at least two of the horcruxes in the past. In places he'd resided. That left here in Surrey (unlikely), Hogwarts (more than likely), the Burrow (not likely), and Grimmauld Place (with the Black family he wouldn't be surprised).

He'd never been patient so he barely survived the week until he taken to Headquarters. Almost immediately he scoured the dingy house top to bottom hoping to find a horcrux.

He did, in Kreacher's stash. It took a lot of sweet talking but he managed to take it from the nasty bugger. Looking at it with his new sight, he saw the black, vile, broken soul attached to it and the tendrils linking it to the others and its creator.

Harry didn't waste any time, flying from Headquarters along the tendrils. The nearest lead him deep below London, and he landed in a Gringotts vault. Without hesitation he grabbed the cup, and ignored the scorching heat it produced. The copying charm was annoying but broke at Harry's muttered word.

Now there were only three tendrils unaccounted for, two together and one on its own. Harry went for the solo thread and wasn't surprised to find himself at Hogwarts. He found the diadem in the room of requirements.

All that was left was Riddle and whatever horcrux he kept on him. Harry found himself in an opulent ballroom, where Voldemort lounged on a throne.

"Hello Tom."

"Potter," the snake man hissed in anger, then leant back in consideration. "What do you hope to achieve? I can grant you a quick death, since you offered yourself up so nicely."

"Hmm... thanks but no. I have some things of yours I believe." With a shrug, Harry unceremoniously poured the still intact horcruxes onto the floor. He wasn't sure how to destroy them, but Harry couldn't help but have faith that he was doing the right thing.

Somehow Riddle's snakelike face paled further, as he realised this boy had collected his most guarded treasures and broken into his most fortified base. He silently activated his emergency portkey only for it to fail. He stood and tried to apparate. Only to bounce of a ward he didn't recognise that burnt him on contact.

"I suppose I will have to kill you, won't I?" he said more to himself. Then falling back on old standbys, cried, "_Avada Kedarva!_"

Once again a matter of life or death pushed Harry beyond himself. To a state he hadn't been since the Chamber.

Harry unfurled all six of his wings.

Holy fire burnt Malfoy Manor to the ground.

* * *

Unseen, Raziel smiled at his charge and youngest brother's victory. All he'd had to do was drop a comment while the young angel was listening and prevent the dark wizards from escaping judgement.

He was surprised no one else had noticed anything about the boy but then the Host was rather in disarray. The Angel of Secrets and Magic kept quiet, the boy deserved some time to himself before eternity took it.

* * *

If they were religious the wizarding world may have called what happened to Malfoy Manor an act of God. They didn't, general consensus was a ritual gone wrong since that was the only reasonable explanation for the destruction.

Harry surprised his friends by suggesting they all go back for their seventh year. Without their leader, or the inner circle, the Death Eaters were quickly brought in by the DMLE. The war petered out before it really got going. Harry kept silent about his role in things, since he had no desire for any more fame.

He got the chance to experience a normal, boring year. It was excruciating.

The only surprise being a conversation with Dumbledore's portrait the first week back. In which he revealed the prophecy, and Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or rage. So he left. When Dumbledore wore him down enough to share his belief that Harry needed to die, he laughed then.

* * *

Harry Potter looked up at the massive wrought iron wall before him. He was about a quarter the way round the perimeter of Hell. He was here because he'd been hearing gossip on Angel Radio about storming Hell before the Righteous Man could break the First Seal and trigger the Apocalypse. He could hear the capitals. But more importantly he heard the higher ranked angels on more private broadcasts discussing how they had to delay the siege so they could rescue Dean Winchester _after_ he broke the seal.

Now, Harry had seen some bad things in the world but he hardly wanted the end times to get under way. So here he was, sneaking into Hell to rescue a self-damned soul.

The walls of Hell had stood for millennia but no one really looked after them. Demons had pried small gaps all over the place. Enough for a few, determined, twisted souls to escape but hardly enough for a corporeal entity to walk through.

Sighing to himself, Harry raised a finger to the wall and started tracing a door, leaving glowing, melted iron like it was a welding touch. He quickly ducked through before welding it shut again. He doubted he'd be leaving discreetly.

The biggest problem he was going to have was finding Dean Winchester's soul. The man had a serious spiritual rap-sheet so he could be anywhere. Though he was most likely on the worse torture racks, the angels (and their demon patsies) wanted him to break and torture himself.

All six wings tightly wrapped, Harry appeared nothing more than a misplaced soul. A safer option than revealing his angelic nature. A small glamour for black eyes and he was a demon running an errand.

Time was irrelevant in Hell, accelerating the deeper one went, but it took Harry two weeks to reach the torture racks. And another to find Dean.

"Hello Dean," Harry said, glamour still held, "Are you ready yet? Ready to do unto others?"

"Fuck you," the Righteous Man replied, though it was more of a cough than anything.

Harry dropped the glamour.

"Good, I'd hate to have broken into Hell and be too late."

"Broken... into?.." Dean muttered, obviously confused.

"Don't worry, I'm an angel, and I'm here to get you out."

"Angels not real."

"Oh yes we are." Harry slid an arm under Dean so that he was hugging him to his chest. "Now, best if you close your eyes."

In the depths of Hell a seraph unfurled his wings took flight like a rocket.

* * *

The second angel!Harry plot-bunny. This would follow a similar plot to It's All in the Details (s/7002492) by Colleen, as Harry and Winchesters work together to prevent the apocalypse. Then fix it if (when) they fail to. Also inspired by Ezekiel (s/5824965/) by Athaeth.

Voldie will probably make a return as an abnormally strong demon (he did resurrect himself with angel's blood unwittingly). Also probably slash, either Harry/Sam or Harry/Castiel (how can I leave him out?).

If I was to write this, I'd probably just start with that last section and explain the rest of it the boys needed to know. Though Harry's backstory might be made a little worse.


	6. Trickster's Magician

**The Trickster's Magician**

Static filled the air, both audibly and visually, and the brothers Winchester found themselves back in the warehouse. The dingy steel was lit up by the afternoon sunlight piercing the holey tin roof, and the circle of holy fire.

"Well played, boys. Well played." The Trickster clapped, then asked, "Where'd you get the holy oil?"

Dean smirked, "Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass."

"Where'd I screw up?"

"You didn't," Sam answered, "Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did."

"Mostly it was the way you talked about Armageddon."

"Meaning?"

"Well, call it self experience," Dean shrugged, "but nobody gets that angry unless they're talking about their own family."

"So which one are you? Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?"

"Gabriel, okay?" The archangel sighed, "They call me Gabriel."

"Okay, Gabriel. How does an archangel become a trickster?"

Before Dean could get an answer there was a burst of flame a quarter the way round the circle from them. Out of the black and red flames, strode an imposing figure. In much the same way that Cas came off as a worn-out banker until second glance. Even though he appeared much like any upper-middle class kind of guy, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, black overcoat flapping as he walked.

It was the walk, no stalk, and the expression that told the hunter brothers that this was no ordinary man (besides the arrival by fire trick). And one that was _pissed_.

"Gabe, where the fuck have you been? Teddy's crying since _someone_ wasn't there to pick him up from school, like you promised."

And that was so domestic that Dean took a step back. When had the trickster become appointment forgetting workaholic?

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, gun (even though it was probably useless) pointed at the newcomer.

The man passed his unnaturally green eyes over the brothers. There was that annoying flash of recognition they were getting used to and he frowned further.

"I thought we agreed to leave these two alone?" Not waiting for Gabriel's answering mutter that he never agreed to that, he answered. "I am Brancinaed, full time archmagus, reservist archreaper, and this idiot's fianc_é_. Though you can call me Bran."

"Archmagus?" "Fiancé?" the brothers asked.

"Yeah, God has his angels, Death his reapers. Magic has her mages." Bran shrugged, "And yes we're engaged. Though Gabe refuses to get married until this apocalypse is dealt with. Which I have to say I'm rather annoyed with you two about. I mean, I organised the protection of hundreds of seals, and personally prevented the breaking of thirty-seven. Including four covens trying to raise Samhain. And you two go and release Lucifer."

Sam stared at Bran, stunned by the rant. Sure Cas had mentioned the angels protecting other seals but he'd forgotten there were six hundred of them. Plus, Bran's behaviour was so _human_, unlike the supernatural critters they normally met.

Dean however was angry. This guy just waltzed in and had the gall to criticise their efforts? Even now they were trying to prevent the actual apocalypse. And no one was helping.

"Fuck you. Where you when we needed help? And it's not like we knew Lilith was the last seal."

Bran seemed to deflate, and waved a hand in vague apology. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. It's been a long day. Getting the dragons (and their handlers) through to Arcadia is like herding nundu. And sorry about not meeting you before, but you're not magic, so you're not in my jurisdiction. Now care to share what got my beau trapped in holy fire?"

"He trapped us in crappy TV shows until we played our roles." Sam offered, "Trying to get us to accept our 'destiny' as Michael and Lucifer's vessels."

"Really, Gabe? You're just going to give up like that? I did not save the world ten years ago for it to be burnt to a crisp before my godson could graduate high school."

"I want it to be over!" Gabriel all but screamed. "I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to these two! Heaven, hell, I don't care who wins, I just want it to be over."

"Oh, Gabe," Bran sighed, and casually walked through the holy fire. He pulled the archangel into a hug. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I did," was the softly spoken answer, "but you were so busy fulfilling your Mother's requests. Saving the world, and all that. What's going to happen will happen, and I didn't want you to worry about me."

"Idiot. 'Course I worry about you. And you know I've never cared all that much for Fate."

"Says the master of the ultimate fate."

* * *

The third HP/Supernatural idea, featuring not-really-quite-an-angel!Harry. Drawing on the idea of Powers from "An Odd Child..." (Chapter 4), so Harry is promoted to similar rank to an archangel but is still primarily magic.

The idea just came as the image of Harry interupting the end of Changing Channels to tell-off Gabriel for forgetting about Teddy. Kinda snow-balled from there. The subsequent plotbunny is below, which is more the angle I'd work with if I was writing this. The story how Harry and Gabriel get together, and then Harry convinces Gabriel to help the Winchesters should the apocalypse come to pass.

Because we all know that Groundhog Day was a romantic comedy.

* * *

The being once known as the Archangel Gabriel, now the Trickster Loki's awareness suffused the town of Broward. For his latest trick he'd trapped the Winchesters in a little Groundhog Day of his own creation. He knew the signs and who the boys were, he'd delivered the message himself!

Sam Winchester needed to learn that he was going to loose Dean, and that life went on. So he was going to teach him.

The reason he was currently a floating cloud of awareness rather than running around in his vessel was had he needed to be. He needed to be aware of the whole town, and be able to follow the Winchesters without them seeing him. Also, maintaining a time-loop took no small amount of effort. And lastly, leaving his vessel on autopilot meant it didn't go off-script.

So it was a bit of a surprise on Day Ten, when Sam was trying to keep Dean safe in the motel, that someone asked him a question in the dinner.

"You're a hard one to find. You know that?"

Startled, the glamour on his vessel broke as Gabriel took over. The spastic jerk knocked over his coffee. Undeniably curious, he looked at the intruder, who was after him?

The intruder appeared to be in his early twenties, his thin face still boyish, though Gabriel saw quite a few stress lines. He had the messiest black hair he'd ever seen, and dorky glasses sat in front of supernaturally green eyes.

"I live to serve. And who might you be?"

"Brancinaed, archmagus and deputised archreaper. But call me Bran. I've been sent in to keep an eye on you."

"Not stop me?"

"Nah, Death's a little annoyed you didn't ask first, but knows what you're up to. Madge too." Bran tapped his lips thoughtfully, "I'm not sure what their game is, though."

Bran stood suddenly, and cocked his head as if listening to something. Then smiled at Gabriel and held out a hand.

"Well, that's my two minute warning. Dean's about to go. Wanna come with?"

* * *

Yeah, Harry's a little OOC but he knows that nothing permanent is going to happen to Dean. And while he might not entirely agree with Gabriel's methods, he knows that Sam does need to learn this lesson. Plus this Harry's a little more mature, and recognises that not everything is his problem (mostly).

A note about the name Brancinaed. It's a compound of two names, Bran meaning "Raven" and Cinaed "born of fire". (Because in this Harry's a black phoenix animagus.) It's sort of a stage name for Harry. Since Harry just isn't that inspiring.


End file.
